


The B-roll

by Hermia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-08 19:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hermia/pseuds/Hermia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is always footage left on the cutting room floor. Some are conversations too long to fit between commercials. Others are looks that linger longer than they should within the constraints of the script. They're supplementary, but they're all special, cut out of the final product and kept somewhere safe. Somewhere for someone to find them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“No.”  
  
Scott's already half-open mouth was poised to finish his statement when Stiles interrupted him a second time.  
  
“No. No, no, no. _Hell_ no. Did you miss the part where I just punched him in the jaw?” He shook his head, shifting from one foot to the other and back again as his knuckles bumped against the examination table. “No way am I having alone time with him. Again. He's not even dying this time. Do you want me to make you a list of everything that could go wrong here?”  
  
Nothing about the way Scott looked at him made it likely he was absorbing any of what was being said. He was waiting until Stiles stopped talking, waiting to ask him (again) to give Derek Hale a ride to school so he can pick up his car. It felt more like he was waiting to shove Stiles into his jeep and wish him luck.  
  
 _Good luck. Don't die.  
  
_ “Come _on_.” Stiles' voice devolved from a protest to a wheedling whine that matched the squeak of his shoes on the tiled floor. “He's good. He can walk. He didn't get shot in the leg.”  
  
“You saved his life.”  
  
“No, he saved his own life. I punched him in the face.”  
  
Scott rolled his eyes as he turned around left the room with Stiles only a step behind. He opened up the supply closet and fished around for something to clean up the mess, only glancing over his shoulder at his friend once he'd found what he needed. “He was unconscious, Stiles. I doubt he even remembers.” He stood up straight, and not even a complete stranger could mistake the look on his face. Part of him was enjoying this. “If I didn't have to clean up, I'd bring him myself.”  
  
Stiles, however, wasn't amused.  
  
“Somehow I find it hard to imagine Derek Hale riding on your handlebars.”  
  
“A lot better than that piece of crap you drive,” Scott said with a laugh, moving past him and back into the examination room.  
  
“I'll have you know that piece of crap saved his life today. Which means it saved _yours_.” When Scott stopped short, Stiles nearly ran into him, only managing to brace himself against the wall at the last moment. Before Scott could turn around and call him out on what he said, he continued with the thought as quickly as he could. “Alright. I'll drop him off, but you owe me. The jeep smells like roadkill.”  
  
Stiles was halfway out of the door when he heard Scott say something about not owing him anything if Derek killed him and hid the body. Grimacing, he dug around in his pocket for his keys and hurried over to his vehicle instead of standing around to shout back at him. What he didn't realize until he was sitting in the driver's seat was that his passenger was nowhere to be found.  
  
Jerking his head this way and that, he narrowed his eyes as if he could see through the darkness. All he could see was a vague outline of someone down the road. “They really need better lights around here.” His jeep rumbled to life at the twist of his keys, and he pulled out of the clinic's parking lot to drive in the direction of who he assumed was Derek.  
  
When he got closer, it became more and more obvious that the person was, in fact, the guy he'd be hauling to school. “Of course he's going home,” Stiles muttered, chin pressed against the hand gripping the top of the steering wheel. “It's only a few thousand miles away on foot. No big deal.”  
  
Instead of bothering to roll down the window, Stiles slowed to a roll and popped open the door. Derek didn't even bother to look at him. He kept walking.  
  
“He-eey.” Clearing his throat, he pushed down on the gas again and gave the jeep a boost to catch up. “You know, your car's the other way. Might be a good idea to... go get it instead of leaving it in the parking lot. Just a thought.”  
  
Derek's lip curled in annoyance as he walked. “I'll get it tomorrow,” he answered. “I don't want a ride just as much as you don't want to give me one.” He stopped, rolling his eyes as Stiles scrambled to hit the breaks, causing his door to slam shut; the teenager opened it again a few seconds later and Derek continued. “Let me give you some advice: stop doing whatever Scott asks you to do.”  
  
“What?” Stiles laughed at that, leaning against his steering wheel as if he didn't understand what he'd heard even though he understood the sentiment perfectly. He even heard it from Scott's mom a few times. “Look, just get in.”  
  
Any other time, Derek would have argued, or just kept walking, but the monkshood bullet had taken its toll on his body. His healing was working fine, but slower than he was used to. The muscles of his body were still aching and he didn't have all the feeling back in the afflicted arm.  
  
Ultimately, it'd be quicker to just shut up and take the ride back to his car. He was tired and felt a strong urge to return to the remnants of the Hale home. So after a few moments pause, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes at Stiles, he climbed up into his jeep, shutting the door and crossing his arms over his chest without a word.  
  
“Well, that was easier than I expected,” Stiles mumbled to himself as he straightened up from his hunched over position and gripped at the wheel. A ' _was that so hard?'_ was poised on his tongue, but he bit down on it and kept quiet. Keeping things civil was important. Retaining all four limbs was important. Digging into Derek wasn't important.  
  
Maybe it was a little important, but Stiles could ignore that nagging part of him without much trouble.  
  
They were on their way in the direction of the high school when he began tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. First was his forefingers. Then all four fingers were tapping out a beat against the worn leather as his thumbs hooked around the wheel, mouth moving in time with the tune rattling around in his head. Anything to get the better of the cloyingly awkward silence.  
  
Derek's jaw was working from the first tap. He didn't suffer that sort of thing on his _best_ days, but after being shot, poisoned, and very nearly needing to have his arm cut off, what little manners he clung on to went out the window.  
  
His hand shot out, gripping over one of Stiles', glaring as his grip tightened to keep the wheel in place. “ _Stop._ Just. Stop. I'd rather listen to you _talk_ than have to deal with that for the rest of the ride.”  
  
Stiles' eyes flew open at the iron grip around his wrist. “Okay! _Okay_. Can I just...” He aimed a sad excuse for a glare of his own at Derek's hand before looking to him. “Can I have my hand back?” When he felt the grip relax, if only a little, he ripped his arm away before settling his hand back where it had been just before. This time, he didn't tap his fingers.  
  
The awkward silence returned with a vengeance. Except now Stiles was even closer to his door instead of properly in his seat, knuckles white to keep from falling back into another habit of his. The roads were empty, but he kept his eyes on the road even without oncoming traffic. Scott owed him. Scott owed him _so much_.  
  
That's when a reminder of an earlier curiosity hit him. “So... what are you going to show Scott tomorrow?”  
  
“Someone the Argents destroyed.” Derek's voice was low. “He needs to get away from that girl. I'm hoping this will smack some sense into him.” A huff of a laugh left through his nose. “Beginning to realize sense and him don't really get along too well, but I guess that's why you two are such good friends.”  
  
“Ah, right, we bonded over the fact that we're both idiots. Common interests had nothing to do with it.” Stiles pressed his lips into a thin line before licking them and staring even harder at the road ahead. “Why do you even care so much? If they're that dangerous, leave. It's not like you're hanging out here to help Scott.”  
  
“I need his help.” Derek paused, flexing the arm that had been shot along with his fingers. He was getting more feeling back. “I can't leave. This alpha is threatening to bring more than just the Argents down on me, and I mean to keep living. I'm not going to die because he can't keep it in his pants around a girl who's probably just manipulating him for her father.”  
  
Stiles didn't quite manage to muffle his snort of annoyance. Setting his jaw, he glanced in Derek's direction once before returning to the road. Then he looked at him again, this time not looking back until he was finished speaking. “You don't even know that,” he said, brows pinching up above the bridge of his nose. “Scott really likes her, and it's pretty obvious she feels the same way about him. Like, **obvious**.”  
  
Derek looked right back at him, gaze hard and jaw just as tense as Stiles'. “She'll never feel the same way. _Never_. And no, it's not obvious. The only thing that's obvious is that she comes from a family of liars and manipulators who've been hunting my kind for centuries.” He leaned forward to catch Stiles' eyes. “Even if she doesn't know what her family is, she'll find out soon. And when that happens, she's not going to choose a werewolf over her legacy. Especially not with this alpha running around.”  
  
“I'm pretty sure I've heard all of this before.” Stiles flexed his fingers around the wheel, grip loosening. “Oh, right, you sound like some deleted scene in a crappy werewolf movie.”  
  
Pulling his hand up to his face, he rubbed at his cheek. Even after everything, he could still barely believe this was happening. But he did know one thing. “That's not how people work. You don't just hear, 'Oh, your family's been hunting werewolves for centuries, so you've gotta do it, too,' and immediately grab for the nearest _gun_. Especially not if it means shooting your boyfriend. The only reason any of that ever makes sense is because they've only got an hour and a half – maybe two – to get the plot across, alright? If she finds out, she's not going to kill the guy she goes out bowling with just because.”  
  
“You watch a few horror movies and read all the Wikipedia articles on werewolves and somehow you think you understand?” There's a rough edge to Derek's voice that he tries to fight off. _He doesn't know any better,_ his mind said. _He doesn't know what they're capable of, not like you do._ “They're brutal. Merciless. She won't have a _choice_.”  
  
Digging the crown of his head into the back of the seat, Derek took a few deep breaths, calming himself as he rubbed over his forearm. “You should get out of this while you can, Stiles.” For once, his demeanor was softer, though by no means sweet. “If it comes down to her or you, he's going to pick her. Every time. You're putting yourself and your family at risk for a guy who will choose the daughter of a centuries old slayer family over his best friend.”  
  
“I'm not just abandoning Scott.” The thought never crossed his mind. Even after the initial rush of excitement at knowing a real, live werewolf faded away and he was forced to come to terms with the fact that his best friend was uncontrollable and dangerous, he never thought about calling it quits. They'd been friends for years. There was no Stiles without Scott. No Scott without – well, maybe that wasn't as true anymore, but the first still counted.  
  
Stiles' brows pinched together as he shifted in his seat. “And no one uses Wikipedia as a legit source of research anymore.”  
  
“You're an idiot.”  
  
It was the first thing that came to Derek's mind and he wasn't one to hesitate with his opinion. It was reckless endangerment of himself and everyone around him. Scott was still weak compared to a more experienced werewolf, but even the weakest omega could rip a human apart.  
  
Still, there was something admirable about such unwavering dedication. He understood the feeling. And after spending the day listening to the neurotic twitch of his muscles and the pounding of his heartbeat as anxiety reached its peak, Derek couldn't help but rescind his statement, however begrudgingly.  
  
“But he's lucky to have you. At least you have a decent punch; that counts for something.”  
  
“Shit.”  
  
Stiles shook his head, blinking absently at the steering wheel as he took a side road he knew would lead directly to the high school. “I was hoping you wouldn't... remember that. But thanks, I guess? It's actually not the first time I've heard that. I know, I know, big surprise.”  
  
Derek grinned at that, rubbing the side of his jaw. It was still a little sore. “I didn't remember it, but once the wolfsbane was out of my system I noticed my jaw hurt. And I heard you two talking about it.” He shrugged. “It saved my life. So just enjoy the fact you got to slug me without me wanting to rip you apart. Without me _acting_ on it, I mean. You still make me want to rip you apart. Guessing I'm not the first person to tell you that, either.”  
  
“Second, maybe.” Stiles pursed his lips in thought. “No, third. There was that one time in junior high I tried to make friends with a new kid. Didn't work out. But he had Juvie written all over him, so I don't know why I was surprised.” He tilted his head one way and then the other. “Ah, junior high. Right. Anyway, I bet your jaw hurts a lot less than my hand. It wasn't as much of a win for me as it sounds.”  
  
“Maybe not. Still...” Derek trailed off as they rolled into the parking lot. The jeep came to a stop a space away from his black Chevrolet Camaro and he was reminded why he didn't really want a ride in the first place.  
  
This was the moment he should say thank you. He and Stiles saw nothing the same way and annoyed each other. He could feel how tense he made him, the way his heartbeat slowed once they were parked. Relief that he was leaving. When you could sense those sorts of things in people, it was difficult to get out gratitude or apologies. It was like being a mind reader.  
  
“Thanks,” he said, despite himself, thick brows furrowing. “I get that you don't like me, I don't like you, you did this for Scott – whatever. Thanks for the ride. And for being willing to saw my arm off.”  
  
“Hey, no problem,” Stiles said with a tight smile that was no more believable than the light tone he forced his voice to take. The thought of actually cutting off Derek's arm still make his stomach churn. “If you ever get shot again, you know where to reach me for any and all of your amputation needs.”  
  
Feeling his unease and having no small amount of his own just from being in this situation, Derek didn't prolong things. He didn't say goodbye or insist he was being genuine or say that he hoped he'd never put Stiles in that situation again.  
  
The was the truth of it, of course. He didn't want anyone involved, least of all a blindly dedicated human, but the reality was Scott was a member of the alpha's pack, and where Scott went, Stiles did. Just another person Derek had to protect.  
  
Without a wave or a look over his shoulder, he entered his car and started the ignition, taking a moment to take off his jacket and roll up his sleeve. The moon and his nightvision confirmed that his healing was working normally. He breathed a sigh of relief, flopping back against his seat and looking out the window, watching as Stiles' tail lights jumped up and down over a speed bump and disappeared on the right turn out of the lot.  
  
He didn't like what was going on around him. Things had gotten out of control very quickly, and now he had two teenagers to watch over. It was unfortunate that Scott had been given the gift of the bite rather than Stiles. As much as they disagreed, he could see him becoming a far more powerful werewolf.  
  
But, then, Derek was all too aware that things never came easily for him.  
  
At least he was on his side.  
  
Sort of.


	2. Chapter 2

She was getting some sort of sick enjoyment out of staying, he was sure of it.  
  
Kate Argent and her goons still hadn't left even hours after Derek had run off. Whether she was staying to capture him or just twisting the knife in an already rotting wound, he really wasn't sure. Whatever her motives, he couldn't go home tonight. That left him shirtless and cold in the middle of the forest with no shelter for miles.  
  
He thought about running to his car, but there was a chance she had more men there, as well. He didn't want to risk it. There were a couple abandoned buildings around that he had slept in before. When he had first returned to Beacon Hills, sleeping in his old home brought back too many memories to sleep comfortably. Of course, now, those memories were all he really had.  
  
But Kate was there now, mocking every man, woman, and child that had died screamed as the flesh melted and peeled off their bodies just by being there, and Derek's only options were find shelter for the night or freeze.  
  
It was then he realized he had options he didn't have before – Scott and Stiles. Scott was more likely to allow him to stay, and had the luxury of not having a parent involved in law enforcement, but Stiles was closer... and the fact he wasn't dating an Argent girl made him a far more appealing option.  
  
Derek shifted into his werewolf form, down on all fours as he sniffed the air and let out a howl. He wanted them to hear him. It was a stupid move – he could already hear them scrambling in his direction – but he _needed_ them to know he'd be back. They'd have to retreat eventually.  
  
His blood boiled even hotter in this form. There was a deep, insatiable blood lust brimming under his skin, causing his heart to beat rapidly and his breath to come out in heavy pants. He could wait for them. He could take them out one by one, rip out their throats. A quick death for her two lackeys. A slow one for _her.  
_  
It was the thought of her and the pain of his losses that brought some clarity back. Derek shook his head and ran in the direction of the Stilinski household. Kate was better than he was. To stay was to die and to die was to fail his family even more than he already had.  
  
Running helped clear his mind. The wind was sharp and cold enough to make his head ache, but there was a purity in it that was enough to make him smile briefly. Exertion kept him occupied, the movement of his muscles and the expansion and contraction of his lungs were all he thought about until he finally found himself at Stiles' home.  
  
Silent as a ghost, he jumped and climbed his way up to the teenager's room, settling with bent knees, hands between his feet to steady himself. The window was unlocked, but he was looking to be a guest for the night, not fishing for answers. After staring at the screen of Stiles' laptop for a few moments, he rapped his knuckles on the glass.  
  
Stiles' attention sprung in the direction of the window, and he pulled his legs in instinctively, laptop folding closed even before he realized who was there. “Of course.” The words were no more than a huff as he set the computer aside and climbed off of his bed, but they were loud enough for Derek to pick up. “Of _course_ it's him. It's not like I expected to have a night alone to study or anything. Nah.”  
  
Moving over to the window, he hesitated before sliding it open to check the lock. When he realized it was unlocked, his expression shifted from annoyed to impressed, if only for a split second.  
  
He dug his fingers just above the sill and pulled the heavy window upwards. “Is there a _reason_ you're hanging out outside my window?” The impressed look was gone, replaced with a thin-lipped poker face. “You've got the wrong house; Rapunzel lives a block down.”  
  
Derek let out a sigh. “I need a place to stay tonight,” he said, jaw working as he considered how much he should tell Stiles. “I have some unwelcome house guests back home.”  
  
“House guests. Right. That's convincing” Stiles took a step back and extended an unenthusiastic arm to sweep the room. The arm fell back to his side as he turned around and made a beeline towards his desk. His shoulders slumped slightly once he was seated, leg bouncing as he began going through the papers spread over the surface. Figuring he should say something, after a brief hesitation, he managed a clumsy, “Mi casa es su casa.”  
  
“Thank you,” Derek muttered as he slid inside, shutting the window behind him and sighing again, this one shorter and more content when he felt the warm air from the heater. He'd forgotten how good it felt. “I'll be out of here before you wake up in the morning.”  
  
“So are you gonna tell me what's wrong, or would you have to kill me?” The words were out of his mouth before he could even consider them. Tapping his index finger on a crumpled sheet of paper, he smoothed the edges down with his other hand. Considering their already spectacularly rocky history was peppered with a few threats on his life, maybe knowledge wasn't always power. “Actually, don't tell me. I'd probably be better off not knowing.”  
  
Derek's thick brows furrowed as his green eyes flicked over the back of Stiles' head. “Probably. But if you're going to keep helping Scott...” If there was one thing he hated, it was putting trust in people. Granted, he didn't trust the squirrelly little man, but admitting to the attack was admitting he was vulnerable. Derek had enough of that.  
  
Still, both Scott and Stiles needed to understand the type of people the hunters were if he was ever going to get their help, so he swallowed his pride. “Argents. Or one, anyway, and a couple of hunters. She thought I knew something about the Alpha and tortured me with a nine hundred thousand volt baton to keep me from shifting.” Absently, Derek rubbed over his ribs where Kate had attacked him, though the burns had long since healed. “Add that on top of the fact she's the one who burned my house down, killed my family, and _maybe_ you'll understand why I keep telling Scott to stay away from them.”  
  
“Yeah, we get it. They're terrible people, and they've done terrible things. Which means Scott should stay away from his seemingly uninvolved girlfriend.” Stiles twisted in his chair, the balls of his feet digging into the carpet to force himself to turn. “You've met Allison. You _know_ she's so nice it's actually kind of gross. But...” He rubbed a hand over his face as the truth of the matter dawned on him. “None of that matters because none of it will change your mind.”  
  
When Stiles' hand fell away from where it rubbed against his cheek, he stared across at Derek. “So do you actually know anything else about the Alpha? Since I'm gonna be helping Scott.”  
  
Derek sat down on the floor, resting his back against the wall under the window, shoulders drooping in defeat. “A little. I thought the Argents killed my sister, but... Kate told me it was the Alpha.” His brow furrowed again. “She said there were bite marks on the body. Do you know if that's true? They didn't tell me anything when they released me.”  
  
“It's why they released you,” Stiles explained, leaning against the high back of his desk chair and letting himself relax. That much was easier now that he kept an eye on his guest. “They were convinced it wasn't you because there's _no way_ Derek Hale with his regular human canines could rip someone in half.”  
  
“It doesn't make any sense. Laura was used as _bait_. If the Alpha wanted me as a part of his pack...” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “None of this fits.” Derek drew a leg up to his chest, gaze shifting from the wall across the way to Stiles' face. “What about you? Are the police still hunting a rogue 'mountain lion'?”  
  
Stiles laughed under his breath, the sound interrupted with each bump of his head against the back of the chair. “Not tonight. My dad's at a parent teacher conference. I'm awaiting the sentence.”  
  
“That doesn't tell me if _you_ know anything new.”  
  
“I... uh, guess?” When Derek gave him a look that almost made him shrink back into his chair, Stiles shook his head and leaned forward instead. “I went visit a... friend today, and she had a video on her phone, taken the night she and Jackson were at the movie rental place. The night of the attack. I caught a glimpse of the Alpha.”  
  
“I was there. Not in time to stop the attack.” Derek shifted where he sat on the floor, frowning. “Let me see it,” he demanded, reaching out his hand.  
  
 _Oh, God._ Stiles' eyes widened, and his hand shot out to where his phone sat on the corner of his desk. Instead of handing it to Derek, he pressed the screen flat against his chest. _He's going to kill me. Stupid. **Stupid.  
**_ ** _  
_**“I... just told you it wasn't on _my_ phone. It was on _her_ phone.” _And you deleted it. Tell him the truth!_ “And I deleted it.”  
  
“You deleted it.”  
  
Derek used his outstretched hand to rub the skin between his brows instead. “What the _hell_ possessed you to do something so stupid? Do you have any idea how important a clear shot – no, of course you don't. I don't know why I expected differently.”  
  
Sighing heavily, Derek rose from his spot on the floor, rolling his eyes when Stiles twitched. “I'm not going to kill you. At least, not until you tell me what you saw.” He shifted from foot to foot, beginning to pace in a short, straight line. “I'm not really feeling my best tonight so if you could save me the trouble by giving me some decent information, that'd be great.”  
  
“Uh... yeah, okay, I – it was huge. Took up at least half of the screen.” Stiles looked up at Derek. His pacing wasn't making the tension in the room any easier to stomach, but he somehow managed to keep from tapping his fingers against the arms of the chair. “Hairy. All over, like Wolfman hairy.”  
  
“The face? Claws? Did it walk on all fours?” Derek kept pacing, faster now, fists clenching at his sides, muscles of his stomach clenching and releasing. Anxiety tensed his back and bunched his shoulders. His nerves were raw, frayed from seeing Kate again, from her torture, both physical and mental. And now the odds just seemed to be stacking against him more and more.  
  
Stiles couldn't keep his eyes off of him. “Look, can you **stop** for two seconds? You're making me nervous. And you'll make tracks in my carpet.” He didn't stop. Of course he didn't. Slouching back into the chair, Stiles focused on the screen of his phone instead. Still no word from Scott. “The face was... He looked like a wolf, alright? He walked on his back legs. I didn't notice any claws. It was a video taken on a phone. At night.”  
  
Derek stopped only to press his hands against the wall, bowing his head, taking deep breaths through his nose. “My uncle might know something,” he admitted, voice low and trembling with repressed rage. He didn't even know where to direct his anger anymore, so he slammed his fist against the wall. “My family had... a talent for that sort of shape. It's powerful. He might know of others who knew... but he's in a coma. So I'm back where I started. _Fuck._ ”  
  
“If you were back where you started, you wouldn't have Scott. And you wouldn't be in my room, punching my walls.” Standing up from his chair, Stiles went over to Derek. All of this seemed like Bad News, but he didn't know what to think one way or the other. So he shrugged, hands jammed deep in his pockets. “He should be able to help, right?”  
  
Looking over his shoulder, Derek met Stiles' eyes, his own narrowing for all of a second before nodding in agreement, turning around to rest his back against the wall instead. “ _If_ he can learn to control his abilities, yeah. I need him. I'll never find the Alpha on my own, let alone kill him.” He crinkled his nose, crossing his arms over his chest. “I need to train him. The full moon's coming and he's going to hurt people if he doesn't learn to control himself.”  
  
“He did well enough last time. Sort of. I mean, it took you dragging him out into the woods, but he didn't hurt anybody.” Stiles chewed at the corner of his bottom lip, glancing around his room before finally looking back to Derek. He didn't like the idea of Scott spending so much time with Derek. That much was obvious enough. He missed hanging out with his best friend, and the fact that he'd be spending every spare moment with either Allison or Derek bothered him. Also, he seemed like a shitty teacher. “So... good, right? Deleting the video wasn't a total loss.”  
  
Derek shrugged. “Seeing it probably wouldn't have helped any anyway,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, dropping them to his sides when he was through. He wanted to be back home, no matter how warm Stiles' room was compared to his drafty, broken estate.  
  
Sighing, he motioned to the floor with his head. “I'll sleep here. I don't need anything, and like I said, I'll be out at dawn. That still alright?”  
  
“I could get you a pillow,” Stiles said slowly, eyes moving from Derek down to the floor where he seemed intent on sleeping. “Or a blanket. There's a... couch downstairs.” Shifting from one foot to the other, he finally decided on grabbing him a pillow out of the closet in the hallway when his phone rang. He rushed over his desk before it managed to vibrate off of the edge, making a choked noise in his throat when he saw it was Scott's mom. Not Scott.  
  
Accepting the call, he held his phone up to his ear and kept shifting his weight on his feet. “Hello?”  
  
Derek watched as Stiles listened to the call, uttering quiet mutters of “yeah” and “uh-huh” every once in a while. The fact that this wasn't a courtesy call became obvious when his hand started twisting in the low hem of his shirt, fingers tugging down at the fabric even as the corners of his mouth did the same. The call ended with him bumbling out an, “I'll be there in a few minutes.”  
  
Stiles' hand was trembling when he disconnected. Biting down on his bottom lip, he slid his cell phone into a front pocket and moved towards the door. “You can still crash here. I'll be back.”  
  
“Wait.” Derek reached out for his wrist, halting him to a stop none-too-gently, but he let go the moment he saw Stiles' glare, one hard enough to make even him take a step back. He held his hands up in a peaceful gesture. “I heard. Do you want someone to go with you? Just...”   
  
He had no idea why he was offering. They very nearly hated each other at the best of times. Hell, he didn't even have a shirt. Maybe it had something to do with Scott. Scott was his brother, and Stiles didn't need the bite to be a part of his pack. Or maybe it was just empathy.  
  
“You probably can handle this just fine on your own, but the offer's there, alright?” he continued, brows slanting upward. “I'm not going to be much comfort, but I know from experience having someone around helps. A little, at least. Or I can just be out of here by the time you get back.”  
  
“I said you can still crash here,” Stiles said, rubbing up his forearm until his fingers wrapped around his elbow. He needed to go. He needed to be out of the house already, down the street, at the hospital. He needed to check on his dad. “If you want a pillow, just grab one of mine. It doesn't matter to me. I'll probably be back in an hour.”  
  
Derek said nothing more, just a simple nod of understanding as he watched Stiles run out of the room and heard the rest: crashing into a table, banging the door out to the garage against the wall, screeching out of the driveway and down the street, with the background rhythm of a panicking heartbeat.  
  
For a moment, he thought about staying, making sure Stiles was okay, but in the end he couldn't even bring himself to catch a quick nap. He didn't doubt the teenager would want to be alone instead, or with his friend. The sympathy of a stranger, and one you disliked at that, wasn't a comfort.  
  
Opening the window, Derek left as silent as he came, headed back to his own home in hopes the hunters left. If they hadn't, well. One night in the cold wasn't going to kill him.  
  
Later on, Stiles returned home with his dad in tow. He was sore and rattled, but he'd survive. That was what mattered.  
  
Once his dad was situated on the couch with a blanket and two pillows, Stiles trudged up the stairs and into his room, dropping down onto his bed without bothering to close the door or remove his shoes. A half hour of frazzled thoughts and an ebbing bite of anxiety passed before he realized Derek wasn't there and remembered why he'd come.  
  
He fell asleep with a feeling of disappointment he couldn't quite wrap his tired head around.


	3. Chapter 3

“Your... friend's been gone for half an hour. So what _exactly_ are you Googling?”

Stiles blinked at the screen of his PC, index tapping incessantly on his mouse as he scrolled down the bag. Things were already halfway to Hell in a fancy little hand basket, but he wouldn't be able to do anything about it for a couple of hours. He might as well get something done. And he was well-aware of the old idle hands adage.

Without saying a word, he got up out of his desk chair once he had the instructions ingrained in the back of his head, moving over to where Derek was sitting. He didn't so much as flinch when Derek gave a start after he bent down to snatch up the shirt he'd thrown onto his floor; it was an improvement.

The trip downstairs proved more eventful than he anticipated, what with Derek following him down the stairs so close they would've ended up in a pile at the bottom if Stiles hesitated for a second. Their proximity only aided Derek in questioning him right over his shoulder.  _Where are you going? What are you doing with my shirt?_

Stiles answered him once. His nonchalant reply of, “I'm gonna burn it,” didn't do him any favors.

It wasn't the truth, but Derek didn't have to know that.

Turning into the kitchen, the blood-stained sweater still in his hand, he began looking through cabinet after cabinet. One was full of canned vegetables. The other had dry noodles and spices and cereal. “Where is it?” he muttered to himself, sliding out the utensil drawer as if he didn't know what he would find inside. Another few drawers later, he grabbed for a bottle and turned around, nearly bumping into Derek (again). Stiles' brows shot up, but he didn't apologize, swerving past him instead and leaving the kitchen to pick his way through the house to the laundry room.

He spread the sweater out on top of the washer and grabbed for a nearby hand cloth, pouring out what he figured was enough vinegar to loosen the blood. “Figured it was the least I could do,” he explained, not looking up from his work as he began scrubbing the fabric. “Not that I've done this before. I haven't.”

Derek's brows twitched inward. It had been a strange few hours, to say the least. “You're... cleaning my shirt,” he said dumbly, forehead creasing even further. “If you're trying to make me look more respectable for any other friends you want to pimp me out to, I'm pretty sure needing to take  _off_ my shirt was key to your...” Working his mouth, he weighed his words carefully. After all, they got what they needed, even if it made him feel more than a little dirty. “Your  _idea_ .”

Stiles tilted his head one way and then the other as if he'd come to a better conclusion after rolling the thoughts around in his skull. It didn't help. Instead, he chuckled and scrubbed a little harder. “Yeah, it was. It got us our answer, though. Sort of.”

Tugging on the hem of the shirt he borrowed, Derek tried to get the fabric to stretch, to accommodate for broader shoulders and chest and thicker waist. A frustrated, low noise rumbled from his throat when it did nothing but wrinkle the cotton. “Happy to be shown off like a slab of meat,” he replied dully before shifting the subject, green-grey eyes watching Stiles scrub the bloodied shirt. “Shouldn't you be telling Scott about his mother by now?”

“Tell him what? 'Hey, Scott, your awesome mom is actually helping the Alpha get his claws into you. Sucks, right?'”

Stiles' brows knitted inward. The blood was loosening from the stitch of the fabric. Some turned the white cloth a pale pink while the rest shifted on the sweater instead of letting go. But it was working. That was a good sign. “It wasn't her. There's no  _way_ it was her, alright? Scott's put up with a  _lot_ of your crap, but I'm not blaming his mom for something she definitely  _did not do_ .”

“And I put up with his. Killing him would have made things a lot easier on my life, but I--” Sighing, Derek pinched the bridge of his nose, sliding his thumb and forefinger up and down. “Don't you think he should at least be warned about the possibility? We're not going to be able to find out anything until the night shift.”  


Both of the teenagers he'd be forced to deal with over the past weeks frustrated him to no end, but Stiles was smarter than this. He'd seen him work. “If the Alpha can't get him to join willingly, he could just as easily go after his family and friends to try and make him more willing. I  _know_ you know that. You're not protecting Scott by not telling him anything.”

Derek could see the almost imperceptible twitch of Stiles' jaw that told him the boy was grinding his molars. He scrubbed a little harder, focusing on that rather than discussing any of the implications. He didn't want Scott's mom getting involved with this any more than he'd go to his dad to discuss what was going on. It was an impossibility. Who cared if he knew he had to tell her?

Finally, Stiles split his lips to answer. His voice was heavier than usual to match his heavy hand as it and the cloth slowed. “It's. Not. His mom.”

Jutting his jaw out, the werewolf shook his head, nostrils flaring. He wasn't stupid; he could trace all this back to Stiles' feelings about his father. It just took one conversation – his dad saying  _I_ _'m proud of you_ –  between them for Derek to hear his heart rate rise, beating differently to the nervous thrumming that had been going on as he lied to the sheriff's face.  


He began pacing back and forth with measured footsteps. Derek understood the feeling. He also understood that with hunters nearby, anyone you loved was in danger. Scott loved Stiles like a brother. “Fine. But believing that doesn't make you or your dad any more invulnerable.”

“This isn't _about_ me or my dad.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, an obvious lie that matched the stutter in his chest. Swallowing at the lump in his throat, Stiles tossed the rag into the laundry basket beside the washer and picked up the sweater. As he turned the machine on and poured the detergent and shoved the article inside, he worked over what he wanted to say. An explanation. Anything. Only when the top was closed and he turned around to face Derek did he find his words. “Scott's – his _everything_ is screwed up right now. Allison dumped him, and now we're gonna tell him his mom was behind the text? Do you have any idea how freaked out he is _already_? And Allison is literally the **only** person who can calm him down. We have to be careful.”

“Allison can't help him. She. Is. A. Distraction. A liability.” Derek's eyes narrowed to thin slits ignoring the lie about his father to focus on more pressing matters. “Especially _now._ You and I both saw how insane he was when the full moon hit. If he doesn't learn to control this? Every _day_ could be like that. He'd be a rabid dog for the Argents to put down.” He moved in closer, jaw set and eyes boring into Stiles', faces inches apart. “Tell me he wouldn't have killed you that night. Go on. Just like he wouldn't have ripped Jackson's throat out for _being in the car_ with Allison.”

Stiles stared at him, his lips pursed, clearly not buying anything that was leaving Derek's mouth. Not that that was surprising; he very rarely bought what the guy was selling.

“Yeah, he would've killed either of us. Which happens to be the point I'm trying to make. And failing, evidently.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned away from Derek, stepping back against the washer instead of remaining close. “Scott's dangerous under all of this pressure. Let's poke him with a stick! Tell him his mom's involved! Because that's gonna work out so well.”

“Because him being _surprised_ about it is _so much better!_ ”  


Derek rolled his eyes, palm hitting his forehead with a smack before he planted both hands on the dryer near him, facing toward it as he leaned. “Sudden, violent emotion. If we're taken unawares by it, that's what shifts us. That's why he needs to learn to control his anger. If he doesn't learn to use it, it'll use  _him_ .” The werewolf turned his head, body following, resting his hip against the dryer, index finger tapping the top of it. “If anything, being constantly pissed off about Allison breaking up with him will help. But that's not going to last, because they're both stupid teenagers who think they're in love.”

“Oh my _god_ , you're so bitter,” Stiles muttered to himself before pushing away from the washer completely. He took a few steps before he turned around again, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Can we not argue in the laundry room? This feels way too domestic, and it's making me uncomfortable.”

The grunted, wordless reply from the older of the two certainly didn't do anything to make things feel less domestic.

Of course, neither did the, “If this was domestic, I would have mentioned your heart rate when I took my shirt off about midway through to ease the tension,” Derek shot over his shoulder as they headed back upstairs.

“What!?”

After a moment left blinking at the empty doorway, Stiles hurried after him, climbing up the stairs only a step behind, which was quite the turn of events from earlier. “What are you talking about? You were across the room! No way did you hear that. Anyway, that was probably  _Danny's_ , if you didn't get the memo.”

Derek let out a breath of laughter. “No, Danny's was steadier. Because he wasn't  _surprised_ to like what he saw.” Opening the door, he slid into Stiles' room quickly, heading over to the chair he had been sitting in when Danny first came over in the first place, leaning back and settling an ankle on his knee, eyebrows raised in Stiles' direction. “Yours was fluctuating because of the lying at first – which you're  _really_ bad at by the way. Miguel? - but that's a different sort of sound. And it changed completely when you took a good look at me. I'm just saying you might want to take some 'me time' and really think about what you want.”

Stiles lingered in the doorway for a while, blinking at Derek across the room. “Miguel's a... nice... name,” he replied. The statement itself was awkward in his mouth, and ended up sounding more like a question. Instead of just standing there, he went over to his desk and sat down, the chair angled partly away from Derek. “I have no idea what you're even talking about. It's not like I've never seen shirtless guys before. I spend a  _lot_ of time in the locker room. And Scott 'what-is-decency' McCall is my best friend.”

“I know what I heard. And what I saw.” Derek couldn't keep from grinning. “Your ears were pink.”

“Why –” The word came out at a higher pitch than he was expecting, and it broke before he could make a save. Clearing his throat, he squared his jaw and continued. “Why were you paying such close attention to me _anyway_ , huh? You were supposed to be working it for Danny.”

“I was,” he replied with a tilt of his head, smile vanishing in wake of a furrowed brow. “It took me a few seconds to see it. I wasn't staring, unless you count all the times I was wishing I could sear you in half by glaring.” His shoulders bobbed in a shrug. “Besides, _I_ already have my sexuality figured out. You? Apparently don't. Which is fine. I'm just trying to help.” The smile came back with a vengeance; Derek even flashed a stripe of white teeth. “Want Miguel to put in a good word for you with Danny?”

Stiles' eyes went wide. “No!” He was too quick on the trigger. He knew it, and he immediately backtracked. “I mean, Danny's really nice and everyone loves him, but I'm not gay.”

“Because you _have_ to be gay to find men attractive.” Derek's shoulders and eyebrows rose and fell at the same time. “Doesn't matter to me. I just wanted to make sure it wasn't going to be a problem. And it makes for pretty good partial payback.”

“What do you mean you had to make sure it wasn't going to be a problem?” A line formed between Stiles' brows as they cinched inward. His expression shifted from confused to one of understanding. “Wait, did you think I was getting all hot and bothered over _you_? Hah. Haha.” Whatever pathetic attempt at a laugh he managed was cut off when he twisted in his chair, effectively breaking the line of sight between him and Derek. 

Clicking onto his desktop, he pulled up a game of Solitaire in hopes it'd divert his attention. “Yeah,  _no_ .”

“Right. I'm sure the arousal I smelled was because you were thinking about your crush while staring at a man's back.”

“Okay, you're just screwing with me now.” Stiles paused, lifting a hand to rub the skin between his eyebrows. Even if his hand still smelled like vinegar. “Messing. You're messing with me now. I was _anxious_. I didn't think Danny was going to help. That's it.”

Derek laughed, a surprisingly warm and genuine sound despite the fact he was making the boy across the room utterly miserable. “You're right. Relax. It's not like it matters either way.”

“Ugh, I hate you so much.” Stiles let himself breathe, slouching against the back of his desk chair and dragging a six of hearts over to the seven of spades. “I used to think Jackson was a douche. I didn't realize there was an entirely different tier of douchedom where people like _you_ hang out.”

“I'll try to remember to feel offended that the beta's little sidekick doesn't like me,” Derek said, getting up and stretching his arms over his head with a quiet groan. “I need to go out for a run before we go to the hospital tonight.”  


There was a bit of a pause as he straddled the sill of the open window, staring down at the wood. There was a tinge of... regret? He knew what he heard earlier... he may've lied about the smell to get a rise out of him, but the heartbeat was there. And the quickening of Stiles' had made his own pick up. He'd honestly just stopped the teasing because he could tell the teenager was reaching the limit of what he could take.

“Stiles. Thanks for washing my shirt.” The werewolf's jaw twitched when Stiles looked at him, brows close together, one raised, clearly suspecting some sort of trap. “That's _it_. Just thanks. I'll be back before sundown.”  


He didn't let the boy answer, instead he slipped the rest of the way out of window and dropped down, speeding his way toward the woods and hopefully to clearer thoughts.

Almost twenty minutes later, Stiles heard the washer's buzzer. The sound pulled him out of his Solitaire daze. He'd added three more games to his flawless record (except for that one time Scott tried and bitched out halfway through), but he hadn't been thoughtless enough to forget about Derek's sweater.

Clearer thoughts might've come for Derek, but Stiles couldn't say the same for himself as he hurried down the stairs to the laundry room. When he removed the shirt from the washer, he saw that the stain was gone save for a shadow of a few droplets near the hem. He did good work, at least, even if the afternoon had been incredibly awkward and confusing for everyone involved.

Once the sweater was in the drier, he took a breath, leaned down, and pressed his forehead against the cool metal.

This was bad.

All of it was bad.


End file.
